


Ball Games

by Leela



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Magical Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's attending a Ministry ball, and someone's playing games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ball Games

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilyseyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyseyes/gifts).



> Written in November 2009.
> 
>  **Beta** :
> 
>  **A/N** : For lilyseyes, who won the jello wrestling poll and requested hot smexing with a prompt of 'desperate', and, of course, fluffy.

"Such a lovely young man," Mrs Fudge declared, patting Harry's cheek. "Don't you think so, Esmeralda?"

Mrs Ogden nodded, causing her wattles to wobble. "We're so lucky to have you, Mr Potter. Honestly, I don't know what we'd have done without you." She smiled at Harry and seized his hand. "You'd do well with my Chamforth, you know. He's barely a minute above sixty, and he knows how to take care of a man."

As Harry opened his mouth to say something, he felt a cold hand slide across his chest and tweak his nipple rings. He had to look down to make sure that he was still fully dressed and one of the witches hadn't done something utterly outrageous.

Before he could get himself together and say something, Mrs Fudge _pinched_ his cheek and continued, "Chamforth's a wonderful catch for the average wizard, Esmeralda, but Mr Potter's going places. He'll need a man who can manage his career as well as his household."

"Your grandson, Oswald, can barely take care of himself, never mind an important man like Mr Potter," Mrs Scrimgeour all but shrieked.

Biting his lip against the urge to hex the pair of them, Harry ducked behind the next waiter to walk past and left them to their arguing. Next time Kingsley insisted on having him attend a Ministry Ball, Harry was going to demand danger pay. Up front. Pack of bloody harridans, the lot of them.

"Harry! I can call you Harry, can't I?"

Slammed back against the wall, hidden from the ballroom by a pair of strategically placed pillars, his newly obtained drink sloshed down his dress robes, Harry just gaped at his attacker. The man had thick blond hair, tiny blue eyes set too close together, and wasn't anyone he knew.

"You know, Harry," the man purred, dabbing ineffectively at Harry's wet clothing. "You've grown into a fine figure of a man."

And that's when it happened. Just as the man stroked his handkerchief over the cloth covering Harry's hip, Harry felt it. A long, thin finger prodded Harry's perineum.

Shocked, Harry shoved at the stranger, propelling him backwards. The last thing he wanted was this prat thinking he was responsible for the fact that Harry's prick was filling rapidly.

"Not here, I understand," the man babbled. "Perhaps the terrace, then. Far less public--"

Harry pulled out his wand, getting a certain amount of satisfaction from the way the man's eyes dilated and the colour drained from his face. Harry snapped, "Not here, not the terrace, and definitely not anywhere else. Understand?"

The man nodded and scurried away backwards, almost toppling over a table in his haste to escape.

With a sigh, Harry swept his wand down his front, simultaneously cleaning and drying his robes. He was about to walk away, when he felt a warm breath gust across his prick.

"Fuck," he muttered, resisting the urge to grab his prick as he stepped back into the semi-privacy provided by the pillars. He turned his back on the room, wriggled and adjusted himself, and then took a deep breath and started to walk across the ballroom. The bathrooms, of course, were through a door on the far side.

"Harry!" Molly waved to him from the Weasleys' table before he'd taken ten steps. "Over here."

If there'd been a pillar close by, Harry would have bashed his head on it. Instead, he tried shaking his head and pointing across the room. Molly, of course, didn't pay a blind bit of notice. She not only beckoned him over; she sent George after him.

"Might as well give in," George said. "She'll send Ginny next, and then you'll really be in for it."

"But I need..." Harry gestured in the direction of the loos.

George looked him over. "You're hardly desperate enough to ignore Mum."

Except Harry was, because every step he took towards the Weasley table was accompanied by a ghostly touch. His bollocks were gently squeezed. His prick stroked. His nipples tugged and rolled. And somehow he managed not to react until a finger entered his arse. Then, he squeaked.

"Harry? You all right?" George stopped and caught Harry's arm. "You're looking a bit... he's not is he?"

Trapping his lips between his teeth before he could make another sound, Harry nodded.

"Jammy sod."

Harry wasn't sure whom George meant, and he refused to open his mouth and ask.

"Mum'll do her nut if she catches on." George glanced back at the table where Molly was gesturing at Ginny. He took a deep breath. "Nothing else to it. Go on, then. Just hurry up, because I don't know how long I can delay them."

Hoping the expression in his eyes conveyed his thanks, Harry took off across the room at double speed.

The hand continued its torment, constantly slithering around Harry's body. Nothing was safe from its chilly touch. By the time he got halfway across he was fighting not to walk bow-legged and had cast three surreptitious charms to prevent his robes from tenting out in front of him.

"There you are, Potter. I've been looking for you all over the place." Head Auror Robards stepped in front of Harry just as he was within sight of his goal.

"S...sir?" Harry managed, as a second hand joined the first.

"The French Wizarding Minister wanted an introduction. I said you'd be happy to meet him."

"Of... course." Harry stumbled over his words as a second finger pushed into his arse.

Robards considered him. "You haven't had a bit too much, have you? Dawlish said he'd given you fair warning that you'd be as good as on duty."

Adjusting his stance to accommodate the hand teasing the head of his prick and the fingers twisting in and out of his arse, Harry allowed some of his desperation to show. "I just..." he began, and inclined his head towards the loo.

"You what?" Robards frowned.

"I'll only be a couple of minutes, sir." Harry lowered his voice. "Those tonic waters go right through you."

"Oh." Face clearing, Robards nodded. "Be quick about it, mind you. I'm not the bloke whose arse this Minister wants to kiss."

Harry nodded and made for the door. He heard a couple of other people call his name, but ignored them. He'd just put his hand on the door to the loo, already imagining a nice quiet stall and a lovely wank -- assisted by the bloody hands that just wouldn't fucking stop -- when someone else grabbed his hand and yanked him sideways into a curtained alcove.

"You have a problem, Potter," Severus Snape purred into Harry's ear.

"Big... one," Harry panted, as his tormentors started moving faster. "Hands... cold... hot. Need."

"What precisely do you need?"

At that moment, the ghostly hand up Harry's arse scraped across his prostate and Harry moaned, "Please?"

"Shall I fuck you? Right here? With all those puling sycophants mere feet away, barely capable of imagining that their Saviour--"

"Severus, please? I'm gonna--"

"Oh no, you are not," Severus murmured, sucking on Harry's ear lobe at the same moment at the hands stopped moving.

Sagging back against Severus, Harry reached up a hand and hooked it around Severus's neck. "Fuck me."

"Desperate, are you?"

"I'm bloody well gagging for it. " Harry rubbed his arse against Severus's prick, feeling its length, its thickness, its hardness in his cleft. "Fuck me."

"Can you take the fingers and me?"

"Anything, Severus. Anything. Just fuck me." Harry moved forwards. Gripping his wand, he braced his hands against the wall, spread his legs, and tilted his arse at Severus.

A murmur in Harry's ear, a lick down his neck, and his robes were tossed up over his waist and his pants shoved down. Severus pressed up against him, bare flesh to bare flesh, and Harry shifted until his pants were pooled around one ankle and he could feel the head of Severus's prick against his puckered entrance. Without waiting, Harry twitched his wand and cast the combination lubrication and stretching charm. Then, he lifted onto his toes and impaled himself on Severus's prick.

"Harry." Severus's groan washed past Harry's ear. And then he had Severus's real, warm hands on him, clutching at his hip and grasping his prick.

They moved together. Severus thrust into Harry; Harry pushed back onto him. Gaining momentum, until Harry's head fell forward, resting against the wall, his toes curled, and he chewed his lips in an attempt not to announce his orgasm to the cream of the Wizarding world. As his prick spurted semen, Severus pushed in deeply, pulling Harry tightly against him, and groaned his own release.

When he'd got his breath back enough to speak coherently, Harry leant back against Severus and murmured, "That was amazing."

"Mmmm," Severus hummed.

After they'd cleaned themselves with spells and straightened out their clothing, Harry wrapped his arms around Severus's waist and whispered, "My turn next."

~fin~


End file.
